


I Cannot Say It All In Lines

by cablesscutie



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Timeline, F/M, Pining, blacksmith!Zuko, no beta we die like men, zuko as lee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29053323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cablesscutie/pseuds/cablesscutie
Summary: Prince Zuko has been dead for years now, and it is for the best.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 52
Kudos: 261
Collections: The No "I Love You" Challenge





	1. Prologue

Once upon a time, in a land of smoking volcanoes and lush rainforests, there lived a prince. He grew up in a world at war. His father, the Fire Lord, sent armies to burn and conquer all they could, determined that firebenders would rule the ashes. This war was the Fire Lord’s only ambition, as it had been his father’s and his father’s father’s. The Fire Lord was determined that he would take over the world, and dreamed of his son maintaining that rule with an iron fist shaped in his own image.

But it was whispered among the court that the boy was too soft-hearted to ever be a true Fire Lord. His bending was weak, and his mother coddled him. How could he ever truly become a man if he spent his days tending animals and reading plays? It was an embarrassment - a mistake - and the Fire Lord must correct it or snuff out the boy’s weak flame altogether.

But it was whispered among the peasantry that the Fire Lord was mad. Nothing would sate the bottomless hunger of his greed - no city conquered was a victory so long as another stood free, and no son was a fitting successor for a man so arrogant. It was with some small sorrow but no surprise that the tale spread of the Fire Lord striking the prince down in a fit of violent rage.

When the Avatar returned to the world with the arrival of Sozin’s Comet after a hundred years, the old man spoke with the collective voice of all his past lives. He lifted the seas, shook the earth, called forth all the winds, and extinguished the flames devouring the Earth Kingdom. He also smothered the flames of the Fire Lord’s throne room as he sucked the air from the war room. The Fire Lord and the princess and the generals had died helpless on their knees, just like so many innocents in the century before. Avatar Aang declared the war over immediately and with the end of the royal line, established the Fire Republic.

And so it was told by the cast-down aristocrats that the weakness of the prince had doomed the great Fire Nation to fall away from the blessings of Agni and become a land of peasants.

And so it was told by all the other people of the world that the last Fire Lord’s cruel pride doomed the crown to die with him, to be replaced by an era of unprecedented freedom.

Rumors persisted, whispered in the shadows of meeting rooms and marketplaces, that the royal family had not all perished and had merely gone into hiding, and that the prince would return to claim his throne when he reached the age of majority. The one thing everyone could agree on was that the world was better off without him.


	2. A Deal

It is only a matter of time before these rumors, no matter how quietly whispered, make their way to the marketplace of Omashu. While not the largest city in the Earth Kingdom, the people there are loose-tongued in a way the people of Ba Sing Se are not. Sooner or later, all gossip makes its way to the bustling stalls.

Even the shop manned by a scowling blacksmith cannot escape the chattering masses, especially not when said blacksmith’s uncle has a notorious penchant for gossip. Each day, when Zuko - _Lee_ , it has been Lee for nearly eight years now - returns to the apartment above his uncle’s tea shop, the old man is eager to fill him in on what he has overhead. Usually, it is inane local news and meddling jibes about his lack of love life.

_That cabbage merchant is back. His wares lasted nearly a full afternoon before a spooked ostrich horse destroyed the cart._ “Well maybe he’ll be smart enough not to come back again.”

_I hear Miss Jin recently broke up with her boyfriend. Perhaps we should invite her to dinner here to cheer her up._ “You’re the only person who’s ever cheered by my presence, spirits know why.”

_I saw fliers for a craftsman’s competition at the festival. Perhaps you should enter some of your work._ “I’m plenty busy as it is.”

But sometimes, the tidbits his Uncle brings to the dinner table prod at the scarred over wound that is their old life. _Master Piandao has been re-elected, isn’t that wonderful? Your old master has done quite well by our people._ “The Fire Nation isn’t our people, Uncle.”

_They found another of Ozai’s generals hiding in the outer islands. He’ll be put on trial within the month._ “Meaning executed. All the more reason not to concern ourselves with news from Caldera.”

Tonight, it is: “Apparently there are those who do not believe Prince Zuko to be dead.” As usual, Zuko does not look up from his food. To give any indication of attention would only encourage a lengthy conversation on the matter, and this does not merit one. The truth is simple.

“Well he is.”

“Nephew -”

“What possible good would it do if he wasn’t? I hear what people say well enough to know everyone agrees the world is much better off rid of the royal family.” Uncle of all people should know this, he thinks. Zuko had been just a child when Uncle took him from the Fire Nation, spiriting him away in the dark of night, bandages still fresh on his burned face. Were he to be discovered, he would have to move certainly, would be harassed, and maybe some radicals would try to kill him, but he had committed no crimes (not as prince anyway, although he’d caused more than his share of trouble on the run). Uncle, on the other hand, was the Dragon of the West, one of the most notoriously _efficient_ generals to ever serve under Fire Lord Azulon. No council of nations would believe that Prince Iroh’s spiritual transformation and repentance as absolution for six hundred days of siege on Ba Sing Se. He would be put to death, his body displayed and publicly disgraced. It is the stuff of Zuko’s nightmares.

“That may be so. But do you not wish to reconcile the two halves of yourself?”

“What’s there to reconcile? I was a blacksmith’s apprentice, and now I’m a blacksmith.” Uncle sighed and stirred his soup.

“Someday, you will realize that there is no hiding yourself. Not from everyone, not forever.”

“I don’t hide myself from you,” he tries to argue, but feels a wash of guilt rush through him. The look on Uncle’s face says that he understands Lee’s words are not entirely true.

He sleeps restlessly that night, waking every hour or so to toss and turn. Lee is a sound sleeper now, the rest his hard-won due after years of watching his back constantly as he and his Uncle made their way slowly out of the Fire Nation and through the Earth Kingdom. He is a grown man with a trade and a home. From sunup to sundown he works hard, and then he returns to his familiar bed to rest before doing it again the next day. But tonight, Zuko is haunted relentlessly by dreams. In some, he is a child again, scared and hurt, crying out for a mother that will never return. In other dreams, he is found, shoved to his knees in the town square as everyone he has come to know in his new life jeers and pitches stones at him. The sound of the howling crowd persists even after they cut off his head.

When the gray light of dawn filters through the windows of the apartment and his inner fire kindles to life, Lee is already awake and nursing a bitter cup of green tea. Every time he tries to brew it himself, he scorches the leaves, but if he is honest, he has never found it to taste much better when done with care. As his uncle sleeps on, this is more than sufficient to do the job of giving Lee the energy he needs to leave for work. He refills the cup and takes it with him when he goes. It is one of the chipped stoneware ones from the lean years, when they had just moved to the city and Lee was a new apprentice, Uncle a tea server. Uncle keeps it because even though he prefers the delicate porcelain set Lee gifted him for his sixtieth birthday, he says that it is bad luck to dispose of things that remind oneself of humbler times. Lee likes that he can reheat it with his firebending if it goes cold without damaging any fine craftsmanship. (Uncle does not believe in letting tea go cold in the first place.)

Lee does not have the sort of disposition that makes people stop him to chat as he walks to his stall in the market, but his relation to Mushi, the kindly owner of the Jasmine Dragon, and the quality of his wares earn him just enough respect to exchange nods anyway. It suits him just fine, to no longer bear the weight of people’s hatred, but not be burdened with pleasantries in turn. He lifts his chin to a few of the tradesmen he knows, raises his hand to wave back to a few neighborhood kids playing before school, gives shallow bows to the older women sweeping stoops and laying out crafts.

“Morning, Lee!” he hears a chipper voice call out. Lee shakes his head as he finds a familiar boy waiting for him just outside his workshop.

“Morning Little Lee,” he answers, voice dry. He ruffles the kid’s hair and holds out his tea cup. The boy takes it and holds it while Lee undoes a heavy iron lock and flips open the boards sealing off the window. Metal pegs protrude from the wood to hold display items, and Little Lee scurries into the booth to start arranging the wares. Lee himself goes to the forge at the back and scoops coal in. A blast of firebending gets the fire started, and he settles down, crossing his legs and closing his eyes. This should technically be Little Lee’s job, as it had been his back when he was an apprentice in Ba Sing Se, but it has become a new form of his morning meditation to inhale and exhale with the flames, stoking them until they are hot enough.

He rises to finish his tea and inspect the kid’s work. The walls are lined with swords and daggers, razor sharp blades glinting in the sunlight.

“I take it you weren’t a fan of the candleholders I finished yesterday?”

“They were fine.”

“You know blacksmiths sell more frying pans and nails than weapons, right?”

“People need weapons, you make weapons.”

“The war has been over since _I_ was a kid. These things are more likely to end up as decorations or being used to mug you than fighting off invaders. Take them down.”

“But -”

“Part of learning the trade is learning your market,” he says, reaching up to take down a collection of throwing stars fashioned to look like lilies. He hears a grumble as Little Lee starts to collect the daggers from the other side. “Another part of learning a trade is not questioning the master,” he calls.

“Fiiine.” More clinking sounds as the weapons are put away and then there is the dull thunk of wooden shelves being fitted into place and lined with housewares. Looking up at the display board in front of him, Lee hesitates for a moment, glancing over his shoulder to his apprentice. On a whim, he decides to leave the ornamental swords where they are, despite the odd picture they make arcing over the woks. It’s worth it for the bright grin on the kid’s face when he notices.

The ring of the morning gong at the neighborhood schoolhouse sounds down the road, and Lee nudges his apprentice to stop fussing with the tools he is laying out on the workbench.

“Time for school, kid.” As he does every morning, Little Lee asks,

“Do I have to?” And as he does every morning, Lee reminds him,

“Your mom says school until you’re sixteen.”

“But you said you didn’t go to school after you were thirteen!”

“Somehow you always remember that part of the story and forget that my uncle made me do lessons with him every night until I was _eighteen_ to make up for it.”

“But-”

“Get out.” Little Lee goes, just as he always does in the end, and Lee sighs, trying to relax. 

He’s a good kid, which is the only reason Lee had agreed to take on an apprentice at all. The idea of having someone underfoot while he worked was unappealing to say the least- the solitude was one of his favorite parts of work - but the kid had been skipping school left and right, known around the market for wandering the stalls during the day and trying to evade his mother’s attempts to drag him to school by his ear. Ever since his older brother had left to work in one of the mines out in the country, he’d been running amok all over the neighborhood. Until he’d hurdled the counter of Lee’s booth to hide from his mother yet again and in a split second decision, he’d barked at the kid to either get out or make himself useful. By the time his mom had caught up to him, Lee had him sorting nails into pouches, and he begged to be allowed to come back the next day. After exchanging a look with Little Lee’s mother, Lee had gruffly told him to be at the stall at sunrise the next day, before tacking on the condition that if Lee ever saw his mother chasing after him like this again, he’d be done. And so just like that, Lee had gained himself a shadow mornings and evenings.

Days are still solitary things though, which suits him. Eventually he’ll have Little Lee with him all day, once he’s finished his basic education and has to start practicing his craft, but he hopes by then the kid will have mellowed some. For now, he alternates between working the forge and making sales at the counter. He doesn’t chat much with the customers that stop, but most of them don’t expect him to. Those that don’t know his reputation for being quiet and a little gruff are unsettled enough by the scar on his face to make their purchases and move on quickly. He sells four bags of nails, a set of fireplace tools, and takes an order for more buckles from the leathersmith up the road.

As he is finishing up lunch, a voice calls out to him, “Excuse me?” He turns, and finds himself suddenly petrified that he has seaweed in his teeth or sauce on his chin. A young woman in a blue dress is standing at the counter, her head cocked to consider him. Her eyes trace over him, and he feels as though he is being sized up somehow, though he’s not sure what for.

“Hi.” He says, realizing belatedly that he should probably put down his food and stand up. He hastily gets to his feet, brushing his hands off on his apron, and approaches the woman. Her long, dark hair flows over her shoulders in waves, a couple small pieces frame her face and disappear into a bun at the back of her head.

“You made these?” she asks, pointing at, of all things, the swords. He nods mutely. “They’re beautiful.”

“Thank you,” he manages out of sheer desperation to avoid seeming rude. The urge to make a good impression is pressing on him, even though there isn’t a good reason for him to be concerned about her opinion. Besides, he realizes, the fact that they are now only separated by the counter, and she has not appeared to register his scar yet. The only people so adept at ignoring it are Uncle who has known him all his life, and his metal supplier, Toph, who can’t see his face. Perhaps this is what loosens his tongue enough to tell her, “I’ve been making them for a long time now.”

“Oh?”

“My sword master made me forge my own blade. It was the first thing I’d ever made with my own two hands.” It’s more of the truth than he’s ever given voluntarily before. Even as the words leave his mouth, he feels anxiety prickle at the back of his neck. Nobody besides Uncle and Master Piandao know that Prince Zuko had been that final student, and there are plenty of sword masters in the world, but he feels the urge to swallow the statement back anyway. Especially when she crosses her arms and makes a decidedly unimpressed face.

“Ah, so you’re a swordsman too, are you?” With a rush of embarrassment, he realizes that she thinks he’s bragging, and he’s ashamed to find he might be, just a little bit.

“A pretty rusty one by now probably,” he says, contrite. He wipes his hands with a rag even though they’re already clean. “I haven’t really used my training besides the arts and crafts part.” Only then do her eyes drift ever so slightly to his scar. Her face does not change though, as she says,

"Do you do custom orders?”

“I haven’t before, but I could.”

“If you don’t really sell swords,” the woman muses, eyes drifting over the rest of Lee’s very boring wares, “why show these off?” 

A little exasperated with her questioning, and feeling defensive, he snaps, “To impress self-important women doing their errands.” She rears back a little, like his words are a physical blow, and he almost feels bad, except that after, her expression thaws.

“Okay,” she sighs, frowning a little as though she doesn’t want to say what she has to. “Sorry, that was a little presumptuous.”

“A little?” he asks, and her brows furrow.

“Don’t push it.”

“You’re the one accusing me of hitting on you.”

“I said I was sorry! The guy at the last booth had quite a lot to say about _swords_ I might like, if you catch my drift.”

“My swords are better. Not least because they come without the innuendo.”

“Then that sounds good to me.” She smiles then, and Lee’s heart trips in his chest.

“Do you have a style you prefer to use?” he asks, turning away and searching his desk for a piece of paper and charcoal as an excuse to hide his flushing cheeks. 

“It’s not for me,” she says. He spreads the paper out on the counter, and they both look down to watch his hands smooth out the wrinkles. The calloused skin rasps quietly over the surface, and a couple of his knuckles are split from the dry air, a few more shallow cuts scattered from handling jagged metal. _Custom sword_ , he writes neatly at the top. _Style:_ gets left blank for the moment.

“Do you know how tall this person is? How much they weigh?”

“Um…” she squints and considers Lee for a moment. “I think he’s about your height. Lankier though.” Her eyes linger on his arms where he has stripped down to an undershirt in the heat of midday. He writes down his own height and an approximate weight, and sketches out the rough shape of a few styles that might work for someone like she is describing.

“Do any of these look like the right sort of thing?” She points to the Jian he’s doodled.

“That one looks nice. I don’t really know much about swords - do you think that’s the right kind?” She bites at her lower lip, and Lee can’t help but stare at how it grows pinker when she releases it.

“Any of these should work fine.”

“Okay. That one then.” He takes the paper and tacks it above his work station with the note he’d made earlier about the buckles. When he returns to the counter, she doesn’t look any more certain, visibly weighing something in her mind.

“You’re not married to it until I start making the mold-”

“No, I’m not married,” she blurts, and he raised his eyebrow at her. “To the sword. Or a person, but...you don’t...care about that.” Her dark cheeks are flushing just a little pink.

Lee has been described as “painfully dense” when it comes to women on more than one occasion, but even he is pretty sure at this point that for all her earlier blustering, this woman is flirting with him. Even though it won’t go anywhere, he finds he doesn’t mind the idea of her amusing herself with him the way he usually gets annoyed with the well-dressed ladies that linger as though he couldn’t have anything more interesting to do than watch them bat their eyelashes.

“I probably won’t get to that until next week.”

“Okay.”

“You have to come back and let me know what metal you want me to use then too.”

“I can come back.”

“A few times,” he says impulsively. He’s never done this before, but after he gets his next delivery from Toph, he can show her options for what to make the blade out of. Theoretically all that would be left after that would be to decide on any decoration, and that could easily be handled at the same time, but... He tries to persuade himself that taking it one step at a time is best from a purely practical standpoint. She’s clearly indecisive, and it would be a pain for him if she changed her mind after he’d done a bunch of work for nothing.

“Sounds good,” she says.

Lee crosses his arms and nods. “Good. So. Next week, same time?”

“Same place,” she agrees. “It’s a date.” And then she is turning on her heel and melting into the crowd, leaving Zuko to stare dazedly after her until the school gong ringing shakes him back to reality.


	3. A Date

He’d been thirteen when a blacksmith took pity on him and agreed to take him on as an apprentice. Zuko and his uncle had been traveling for months with nothing but the clothes on their backs, sustained by the kindness of strangers and odd jobs. He’d been so young, and looked as rough as he’d been living, add to that the scar on his face, and finding a job had been nearly impossible. The owner of a noodle shop had kicked him out unceremoniously after Zuko had started to argue about being denied a job as a dishwasher. In his frustration, he had stomped his way down the alley behind the shop grumbling and breathed literal fire. Firebending had still been illegal in Ba Sing Se, and he’d been told again and again by his uncle that maintaining his control was essential to their survival, but he’d been a kid, and a pretty insufferable one at that.

And because Zuko had the worst luck, he’d been spotted by a tradesman closing down his shop for the night. 

And because Zuko had the best luck, the tradesman had struck a deal with Zuko that if he came and stoked the forge every morning, the man wouldn’t turn him in to the Dai Li.

And because Destiny was a sneaky thing, stoking the forge had turned into a formal apprenticeship after Gon had asked a passing question about Zuko’s dao swords, and he had let it slip that he had made them himself.

That workshop had been the palace where Zuko finally gave way to Lee as the promise of a normal life and the reward of a hard day’s work started to take shape for him. Without it, he had probably been heading for swift discovery at worst and a life of piracy at best. His work gave him a purpose, and knowing that he would one day be able to care for his uncle as the old man cared for him made him feel proud. Lee is eternally grateful to his former master, and on most days, when he looks at Little Lee, he feels that gratitude well up and compel him to cut the kid some slack.

The day that the beautiful woman is returning to the shop is not most days, though. Zuko’s terrible luck has apparently decided to rear its ugly head again with the express purpose of making Lee suffer, so of course Little Lee’s teacher was out sick and the kids were sent home. Any other week, Lee would feel proud of his apprentice for staying the whole day to assist him instead of running off to cause trouble with his friends, but things being what they are…

“Why are you trying to get rid of me?” Little Lee demands when Lee insists for the third time that he’s done enough work for the day and if he wants, he can get in some time with his friends before he has to be home for dinner.

“I’m not!” he protests, but he’s always been a pretty lousy liar, and the kid is sharp.

“Bullshit.”

“Hey, watch your language,” he says, aware that this is a pretty lame argument considering he’s never bothered to call him on it when he’s cursed in the past. Little Lee ignores him completely, eyes zeroing in on something behind Lee. He ducks around his master and sidles up to the counter, and noticeably deepens his voice when he says,

“Why hello there. How can I help you?” Lee whips around to find, of course, the beautiful woman. She manages not to laugh in the kid’s face, but visibly struggles to do so.

“I’m here for Lee,” she says.

“I’m Lee.”

“We call this guy Little Lee,” Actual Lee says, stepping up beside his apprentice and ruffling his hair none too gently.

“Hey!” The woman does laugh then.

“Nice to meet you, Little Lee.”

“Oh, the pleasure is -”

“Get me the metal samples and the sword sketch from my work table,” Lee cuts off any further attempts to drive her off with adolescent flirting. Little Lee looks up at him with a look of incredulity and betrayal.

“It’s only like twenty feet away!” Lee shoots him a warning look.

“You said you wanted to work instead of playing with your friends. So go work.” He goes, with a monumental sigh, and Lee rolls his eyes as he looks back to the woman and her amused smile. She is studying him again, her blue eyes tracing his face, the set of his shoulders, his crossed arms.

“Your...son?” she asks, head tilted.

“Apprentice,” he corrects quickly. “Neighborhood kid.” He tries not to let himself think that she looks relieved.

“Ah. He’s funny.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“But not the one that you would choose?” Little Lee reappears and very pointedly lays out the drawing and small metal squares.

“Thank you, _Little Lee_. Would you go brew some tea? I’m a little parched.”

“But don’t you think I should learn how to take custom orders?”

“I think you have _plenty_ of practice with your customer service skills.”

“Now that you mention it,” the woman cuts in before Little Lee can argue again, “I would love a cup of tea myself.”

“We have green, ginseng, jasmine, and peppermint.”

“Jasmine sounds lovely.”

“Green for me,” Lee says, reminding his apprentice that he is still very much present.

“I’m on it,” Little Lee promises, and bows to the woman, which makes the first time Lee has seen him remember to bow to _anyone_. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Lee says, “Thank you for-” he waves his hand to indicate his apprentice now fussing with spark rocks and tea canisters.

“My brother was just like that.”

“A complete buffoon in front of every pretty girl he sees?” The woman smiles and leans on the counter, swaying closer to Lee.

“Pretty girl, huh?” His face goes hot.

“Uh…” He can’t tell if he’s supposed to apologize, and if so whether he should be sorry for mentioning her looks at all or for calling her a girl. At his helpless bumbling, her smile widens.

“Speaking of my brother, the sword is actually a gift for him.” Lee lets out a relieved breath at the conversation being directed back to work.

“Oh. Right, the sword. Um, sorry, yeah.” He fusses with the samples for no particular reason, and turns the drawing so she can get a proper look at it.

“So, this was the design you said you liked last time. If you want to change it now, this is the last chance, because after today, I’ll make the mold. She leaned over the counter to study the drawing again, and some of her hair slipped over her shoulder and brushed his forearm. He yanked it away before he could think too long on how soft it was, but there was nothing to be done about the scent of sweet coconut oil that enveloped him.

“I like this one still,” she said, looking up at him from under her eyelashes. Lee cleared his throat, which now really was in dire need of tea.

“Alright. Good. So, uh, these are the metals that would make the best blades.” He walks her through the three basic options, and she nods along, but it’s the last one that makes her eyes light up. “This one would be a bit of an experiment,” he warns. “My metal supplier threw it my way because she knows I...fiddle around with things sometimes, but I’ve never worked with this before. She pulled it out of a meteor. It seems to have similar properties to steel, but I won’t really know how it works as a sword until it’s forged and sharpened.”

“That’s the one.”

“Are you sure? I mean if it doesn’t work-”

“Then charge me anyway and make it from steel,” she says with a wave of her hand. “I know my brother, and he would lose his mind to have a meteor sword. I’ll take the chance.” Her expression is so vibrant, he can feel how much she loves her brother. Lee’s traitorous heart wonders if she could ever smile that brightly at the thought of him.

“Okay, I’ll give it a shot.”

“Should I come back next week then? To check the progress.” She is looking at him with hopeful eyes, and Lee wants desperately to believe that her eagerness is more related to his company than the sword.

“Oh. Yes. I should have it cast by then.”

“And then we’ll talk about details?”

“Right.”

“Should I bring sketches?

“If you want to. Otherwise you can just have a list of ideas or bring some other stuff to give me a sense of it and I can draw it up for you then.” Her eyebrows lifted.

“And the talents just keep piling up.” This time, she sounds impressed instead of annoyed, and Lee finds himself shuffling nervously under her gaze.

“Not really a talent. My swordmaster forced me to study painting to teach me patience.”

“Patience?”

“And observation, but the patience was a bit of a problem.”

While she is laughing at him, Little Lee appears with the tea. He places the cup in front of her, and Lee finds himself wishing he’d thought to keep something halfway decent around the shop. “Jasmine for the lady.” The second cup hits the counter a little less elegantly. “And here’s your hundredth cup of hot leaf juice today. Hope your heart doesn’t explode.”

“Didn’t realize I ordered it with snark,” Lee says mildly, taking a sip.

“Didn’t hear you say to hold it.”

“Fair enough.” Lee takes the drawing and the meteor sample from the counter and holds them out to Little Lee. “Put this order in the log book, would you?”

“But -”

“What have I told you a hundred times?”

“Always know who owes you.” Lee hums in the affirmative. The woman is smiling at the exchange over the rim of her teacup like they’re the most entertaining thing she’s ever seen.

“Well then does the lady have a name?” Little Lee does something with his eyebrows that looks like his face itches, and Lee, in an impressive display of restraint, does not slap himself in the face. His dismay turns to shock the moment the woman says,

“Katara.” Little Lee’s face goes full-blown giddy, his enthusiasm enough that she actually leans back a little when he says,

“No _way!_ Like _the_ Katara?”

“I - Um. What?” she asks, her eyes wide.

“You studied with the _Avatar_! That’s _so cool_!” Lee grabbed his apprentice by the shoulders and walked him back to the desk.

“Okay, I think she knows what she’s done. She doesn’t need you to tell her. Just do your job.”

“But -”

“I cannot stress enough how serious I am.” Lee wishes the walk from the back to the counter was just a little longer to give him enough time to process what he has just learned. “I’m so sorry about that, uh...your highness?” Zuko feels strange about hearing his old form of address in his own voice, and Lee has never met royalty before, so he can’t help the awkward and halting manner of his speech.

Princess Katara, master waterbender, daughter of Chief Hakoda of the Southern Water Tribe. The only bender in the South Pole to survive the raids ordered by the Fire Nation Royal Family, trained by Avatar Aang himself. Her arrival to the city to study politics at the University of Omashu had been yet another bit of tea shop gossip Uncle had talked at him about, and one of the few that he had indulged the old man in because it had nothing to do with the Fire Nation or meddling in Lee’s personal life. Lee finds himself regretting it now as his stomach sinks into his shoes, the depth of just how far out of his league she is settling in. He’d been able to guess from the quality of her clothes and her midday shopping that she was probably from a wealthy family, but the idea of her being _royalty_ made her unattainable. Being from the people his family had nearly erased made her impossible.

“I’d prefer just Katara,” she says. He wishes she hadn’t, because it would be much easier to remind himself not to get ideas about her wandering eyes or quick wit if he had to call her ‘Your Highness’.

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” They lapse into uncomfortable silence, while Lee tries to come up with something to say to her. She puts her cup back on the counter. “Maybe I should-”

“So how are you liking Omashu?” Lee blurts. She blinks. “Sorry, um.” Katara smiles at him and picks up her teacup again.

“I’ve been enjoying it a lot more lately.”

By the time the market gets busy again and she takes her leave of him, she’s finished off two cups of tea and Little Lee has taken to making kissy faces at Lee when the princess isn’t looking. Lee is too distracted to even smack him upside the head for it.


	4. A Dance

The meteor metal is hard to melt down. Lee’s forge can’t get hot enough on its own to get it done completely, and only bending at the midday peak of his inner flame is enough to get it there. It is even harder to keep at workable temperature as Lee bashes at it with his mallet, trying to force the blade to bevel into something he can sharpen. Little Lee stands at his side, occasionally wiping sweat from his brow with a rag before it can run into his eyes. Lee keeps up a steady rhythm of hammering as he inhales and then exhaling fire onto the blade to keep it hot enough, and the air in the shop is sweltering. He’s going to owe the kid an ice cream the size of his head when this is finally cooling in a bucket. His shirt sticks to him all over, soaked with sweat, but he can’t risk taking it off with sparks flying on each strike.

Slowly, the metal starts to take shape, giving way under the heat and force. He works for what feels like an eternity, locked in struggle with the hunk of metal, until, just as the shadows start to grow long, he rips it off the anvil and plunges the tongs into a barrel of water that hisses and steams in protest. He hands off the end of the tongs to Little Lee, and dunks his morning teacup into the other barrel, splashing the first two cups he comes up with onto his face, sighing in relief as it runs down his neck. The third, he brings to his lips and drinks all in one go, gasping for breath as he reaches for another. When that’s gone, he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it in a heap. He feels exhausted and disgusting. He might actually put out the forge and dare to leave Little Lee in charge of closing up, he’s so in need of a bath and a nap.

“You okay there?” a familiar voice calls, and even though he turns to look, he is surprised to find that she is real. Katara is standing at the counter, several days earlier than she was due back. And of course Zuko was sweating like a hogmonkey, smeared with soot, and standing half naked in his own shop.

“Oh. Uh, yeah. I’m fine.” As always, her inspection of him is careful, and he feels entirely naked by the end of it. “I’m sort of a mess right now.”

“I don’t mind.” He doesn’t have a spare shirt with him, but he can’t quite bring himself to speak to a princess without making himself at least slightly more decent, so he pulls his leather apron back on in some gesture of modesty and approaches the counter.

“The sword still isn’t ready to look at yet. I actually just finished shaping the blade, so it has to cool. It’ll be ready when you’re here in a few days though. Sorry.”

“That’s fine, I wasn’t expecting it to be ready yet. I’m just dropping by on the way home,” she says, showing him the basket on her back and the box in her arms.

“Is that from the Jasmine Dragon?” Little Lee asks, appearing suddenly, his own cup of water in hand.

“It is,” she confirms, and flips the lid open to reveal rows of Uncle’s pastries. “Do you want one?”

“Yes please!” She holds the box towards him, and the kid picks up something oozing jam and dusted with sugar. Then she offers the box to Lee.

“You look like you could use something sweet,” she says. Lee’s eyes drop to her lips, unbidden, and then jerk quickly back up to her own. His mouth opens with the intention of politely declining her offer, but her enticing smile forces him to say,

“Thank you.” And of course, everything his uncle has ever managed to teach him about hospitality requires that he then offer her a cup of tea, so he does, expecting that she will decline and say she has to get home with her shopping. To his surprise, however, she accepts. Lee invites her to come inside and sit down, and she makes herself comfortable seated on top of his desk, the pastry box open beside her hip. Little Lee reaches for the kettle without being asked, but Lee waves him off and tells the kid to take a break. He takes the same stool he always sits on around the shop, and Katara passes him another pastry while Lee heats the kettle with his bending and then fixes tea for Katara and himself.

He groans sitting down in his chair, his back already starting to feel sore from how long he’d been bent over his work. Katara coughs on her first sip of tea.

“Sorry, did I scald it? I don’t have Uncle’s touch with tea,” he apologizes.

“No, the tea is great,” she says, which he knows has to be at least a slight exaggeration. Her face is a little red. “Just went down the wrong pipe. Here, take a pastry.” She leans forward to hand him one, and their hands brush just briefly as she settles it in his palm. When she sucks the sugar from her fingertips one at a time, he starts to sweat again and almost scalds his throat taking a giant sip of tea. Her eyes catch on his hand as he lowers the cup. “Your hand is bleeding.” 

He turns his hand to look at the back, and finds that she is right. The skin on a couple of his knuckles has cracked and blood is welled up in the fissures, but not spilling over.

“It’s okay, it’s just the dry air from the fire going for so long. Occupational hazard.”

“Well, here, I can fix it,” she says, holding her hand out for his. He doesn’t realize what she’s going to do until after he has already set down his cup and given her his hand. The calluses on his palm catch against her smooth skin, and he feels the urge to apologize for touching her creeping up his throat. Then, she calls the water to her, and their layered hands start to glow. It is little more than a flash of light before it fades, and she banishes the water into the packed dirt floor. When he looks at his hand again, the split skin has knitted back together, the blood washed away. “All better,” she says, cupping his hand in hers for just a moment more before her cool fingers slide away like her water.

“Thank you,” he says. The hand that has been holding his pastry is fine, and he tries not to feel disappointed about that as he takes a bite. It is delicious, flaky and buttery, and this one is twisted with more spices than sugar. Lee reasons with himself that this was probably just whatever was on top of the pile, but it feels like too much coincidence that she guessed his taste randomly.

The princess stays with them until the box of pastries is gone, and he apologizes for himself and Little Lee, offering to pay her back for what they ate. She just smiles and shakes her head, saying, “Did you think I was about to eat all of those myself?” Then she stands and bids them a goodnight. “I’ll see you in a few days.” Lee nods, and even though Uncle would never forgive him for it, he does not insist on escorting her home. He just nods and lets her go.

The morning Katara is supposed to come back to the shop, Zuko starts Little Lee opening up the shop, and goes to the Jasmine Dragon. Uncle smiles broadly at the sight of him, greeting his nephew with open arms as though they had not eaten breakfast together hardly over an hour ago.

“What a pleasant surprise!” he says, and turns to introduce him to the woman he had been chatting with. Naturally, she has a daughter right around Lee’s age, and he has to cut them off before he can get roped into a blind date. He has never been less interested.

“I actually came here to run an errand, and then I have to get going.” Uncle and his companion both open their mouths to protest, so he adds, “I left Little Lee in charge of opening.” Those are the magic words. With matching grimaces, he is excused from the conversation, and Uncle accompanies him to the front of the shop.

“Did you run out of tea?” Uncle asks, already reaching for the canister of matcha and a paper bag.

“No, I have enough tea. I, uh, need to pick up some pastries.”

“Oh?” Uncle’s bushy eyebrows creep up his forehead.

“I have a meeting later.” With a grin that is far too knowing, Uncle starts assembling a box.

“Ah, say no more. Perhaps something chocolate for the lady?”

“A business meeting,” Lee grits out, cheeks flaming.

“I have never known you to be so formal about your business, nephew. It must be a _very_ important client.” Lee thinks that if his uncle had any idea of just how true that was, the old man might faint.

“She is, actually,” he admits. “It’s a custom order,” he rushes to add. “The meeting is about some design stuff, so she’ll be there a while, and she brought food last time.” Uncle just stares at him impassively. “I’m just being polite.” Lee feels like a teenager again, rambling and further incriminating himself the longer his uncle stares him down. After a moment of silence during which Lee nearly bites a hole through his tongue to keep from digging a deeper hole, Uncle nods.

“Well, then we must make sure that you a properly prepared host.” He starts to pull sweets from the shelves, piling them into the box. “After all, customer satisfaction is the key to a successful business.” Lee cannot possibly reply to the emphasis Uncle puts on the word _satisfaction_ , and quickly shoves away any ideas about what that could entail besides pastries. Dropping a handful of coins on the counter, he snatches up the box and strides out of the shop without another word, Uncle’s laughter following him.

“Oh, aren’t you sweet?” Katara says when Lee places the box of pastries down beside their teacups that afternoon. He’d snuck out a couple of decent cups from home that morning, and cleaned off his desk ahead of time to make room for his sketching paper and their refreshments. Little Lee has been ordered on his best behavior no less than five times, and with the knowledge that she is a princess, seems finally capable of not trying to put the moves on her.

“Well, you wouldn’t let me repay you the other day, so I figured I’d bring the snacks this time around.” Again, the princess elected to sit on the desk instead of in the offered chair, and Lee struggled not to entertain other ideas about the princess and the desk. Or any other flat surfaces for that matter. It was maddening to say the least that it should be her to finally draw his attention. Years of his uncle’s meddling, and yet it was, as always, the spirits’ continued vendetta against him that brought him to someone he wanted to know more of.

“Far be it from me to reject your hospitality,” she said, picking up a round pastry dusted with powdered sugar and popping the whole thing in her mouth. Sugar stuck to her face and her cheeks puffed out as she chewed. It shouldn’t have made for an attractive picture, but he laughed and had to restrain himself from leaning forward to kiss her lips clean anyway.

They spend the entire first cup of tea making conversation while Little Lee runs the counter. The entire time, Lee tries very hard to pretend he doesn’t notice how people stare at the little meeting taking place in the shop, either enchanted by Katara’s beauty or nosy about his sudden attitude change. Katara tells him of her adventures traveling the world when she was studying waterbending with the Avatar, and Lee manages to dredge up what few fond memories of the road he has, although most of them come from making the journey from Ba Sing Se to Omashu after he finished his apprenticeship.

“But did he listen? No! That crazy old man went and made it into tea anyway!” Katara doubles over laughing at one of Uncle’s many mishaps with roughing it. The movement brings her face very close to his own, and the words to finish the story dissipate instantly. At his sudden silence, she looked up at him, not making any move to sit up again. Lee finds himself leaning closer to her, drawn in by her blue eyes, shining with mirth.

“So what happened?” she asked, her voice dropping to a volume befitting the minimal distance between them.

“Hm?”

“With your uncle and the bush? What happened?” Lee blinked rapidly, remembering himself, and sat up straight again.

“Oh. Uh...he got this really itchy rash all over, and we had to go find a healer before it made his throat close up.”

“Sounds like you two have had some pretty crazy times.” _Understatement of the century._

“Yeah. It was, uh, eventful.” 

Her eyes seem to see past all the omitted details right to the truth of who he is. Lee shies away from her gaze before she finds the shameful corner of him where Prince Zuko is hidden and hates him as she should. “Sorry for making you listen to all my old stories. Must be getting old if I’m turning into my Uncle like that.” He pushes up from his chair and snags their teacups, retreating to the kettle to make another round. It is not strictly necessary for him to turn his back to her fully to complete his task, but he does. If he has to endure her staring for another moment, he may combust, and he does not particularly trust himself with the sight of her either. She does not speak to him as he works, and he both fears and hopes that he has offended her. Only when he turns around, he finds that she is studying him with that same intent expression - not quite sympathy, but something more like understanding.

When he sits down again, he shifts his chair further away, ostensibly to give him room to lay out paper. Katara does not appear fooled, lifting an eyebrow hardly enough to be noticed. The remainder of the pastries are left to Little Lee as he does his homework in between sales, and at last Lee asks the princess, “So what are you thinking you want on this? Any engraving? Decoration?” As he speaks, he sketches out a larger version of the doodle on her order form, just the basic outline of the jian. To his relief, the princess’s eyes leave his face in favor of watching his hands move across the page.

“I had a few ideas,” she says, her voice more hesitant than he has ever heard it before. “There’s a coming of age ceremony in the Southern Water Tribe, and you get a mark at the end of it. My brother got the mark of the wise. It looks like this.” She presses her fingertip to the page and draws an arc with a dot under it. So I thought something with that might be nice.”

“Okay.” Zuko traces the same path her finger had with his charcoal.

“And our warriors’ helmets are shaped like wolf heads,” she says, confidence returning. _Wolves_ , he writes under the mark of the wise.

Katara goes on a meandering explanation of her tribe’s sacred animals and spirits, only some of which are at all related to her brother. He doesn’t try to redirect her though, instead listening to her stories as he starts to draw, fuzzy lines overlapping the original outline, slowly shaping it into something new. Her voice is faraway, wistful as she describes her grandmother’s hut with its perpetually crackling hearth and bottomless pots of stew. It sounds lovely - her home, her family - and as she talks, and the drawing in his hands grows more vividly detailed, he can almost feel the walls of the shop turn to packed snow. He can almost imagine a life where he has never been Prince Zuko, loathed and abandoned, only Lee, peaceful and perhaps even loved.

It is only when her hair brushes his shoulder that he realizes she has stopped talking and his imagination has run away with him instead. In a hushed voice, she tells him, “It’s beautiful.” The sword as he has drawn it is a blade emerging from the mouth of a snarling wolf, the mark of the wise just above the hilt. The pommel is a circle that he intends to be a moonstone. He’ll have to go to the jeweler down the way to find the right one, but he thinks it will look nice. The leathersmith might be able to stain the hide to wrap the grip, and he has made a note that he wants it to be navy blue. With the black meteor metal for the blade, and if he can pull it off, the result should, in fact, be beautiful.

“Thank you.” Her smile is soft and just for him, and Lee’s knuckles go white from gripping his charcoal too tightly.

Again, he does not let himself say anything when it is time for her to go. The light of the setting sun flashes in her hair like fire. He feels it burning him from the inside out when she looks back over her shoulder and meets his eyes. Lee cannot manage to look away. He holds her gaze honestly until she turns a corner and vanishes.


	5. A Decision

The sword is done. It has taken weeks to complete - weeks of Katara showing up at the shop every day she does not have lectures to attend, bringing food or books she is reading for classes. She makes no pretenses of being there for any reason except to be with him, and he thinks that he should not allow himself to indulge in her company like this, because every conversation leaves him more enthralled. The passion she has for serving her people, the intelligence with which she explains her work, the clever jabs she makes at him while watching him work all leave him with the impression that she is even more remarkable than the local rumor mill had made her out to be. 

Said rumor mill has also ensured that Uncle is aware of the frequency and duration of the lady’s visits, and so has made him unbearable. Lee staunchly refuses to give her name, or any identifying details, but Uncle has never needed him to talk much to know his feelings. When his visit to the jewler is reported, and he is confronted about it, Lee thinks Uncle is on the verge of dancing a jig until he tells him about needing a moonstone for the sword.

“Well,” Uncle says, more subdued but undeterred, “romance is not a sprint. It is a steady march. You will get there.” He pats Lee’s shoulder as though consoling him.

“That’s not going to happen. I finished the sword today, so when she comes tomorrow I’ll give it to her. After she pays me, she’ll move on with her life.”

“Or perhaps not. Perhaps, if you are open and let her know how you feel, you will find that she does not wish to go anywhere.” Lee shakes his head.

“I think she likes me well enough, but we both know it can’t go anywhere. Trying to convince her otherwise would be too selfish.” Uncle hums, unconvinced, and sips his tea.

That night, for the first time in years, he dreams of his sister and her cruel, crazed laugh. Katara is there, and lightning sizzles in the air. He screams, and wakes clutching his chest. The moon, full and bright, stares down at him through the open bedroom window, and he can feel that daylight is still a long time coming. As he lies on his back, staring at the ceiling, he wishes he did not have to endure the long dark night alone.

Sunrise leaves him feeling restless despite his poor sleep, and he forgoes his tea to keep from crawling out of his skin later. He meditates far longer than is needed to get the forge heated properly, but is forced to give up hope of finding peace within himself today.

“The princess is picking up the sword today, right?” Little Lee asks.

“Yes,” Lee says, not looking up from where he is watching ore melt with an intensity that would suggest he is doing it with his eyes.

“Cool.” Little Lee sets an oil lamp on the shelf he is arranging. “So on an unrelated note, can I take the afternoon off? I, uh, have to study for a history test.”

“Fine,” Lee bites out, then feels guilty. “Sorry.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, and turns to face his apprentice. “Take the afternoon. And go ahead and meet up with your friends before school now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I can finish from here.” He offers an apologetic smile. “I should probably keep myself occupied anyway.” So he works the rest of the morning away, arranging and rearranging, casting a set of bookends shaped like sea serpents, and sweeping the shop until he feels about to start carving a trench in the floor.

Katara arrives early, announcing herself by walking into the shop and leaning on his shoulder where he has taken to reviewing his ledger. He startles at the sudden touch, but much to his dismay, relaxes as soon as he hears her voice say, “It’s just me.” Her hand slides from his shoulder to rub circles on his back. He wants to turn and hide his face in the collar of her dress.

“Hi,” he says, closing his eyes for a moment to memorize the feeling of her warmth hovering so close to him, the span of her palm and fingers, the affectionate tone of her voice. She backs away half a step when he finally turns to look at her, and he feels cold.

“Is it ready?” she asks, her smile eager. Lee nods, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. “Well, let me see!” He wishes she wouldn’t be quite so enthusiastic about the end of their time together. It would sting less if he didn’t have to pretend to be excited too.

“It came out closer to what I pictured than I thought it would,” he admits, feeling a bit of pride despite the pain in his chest. He unlocks the trunk he had stashed the sword in, and pulls it out. The scabbard itself is rather plain, made of the same navy-stained leather that wraps the grip, the only ornamentation being the silver chape and locket at either end. It doesn’t need anything else though, with how ornate the hilt is. The wolf is finely detailed, with silver coating the eyes and teeth, inlaid in streaks through the grooves meant to be fur. The moonstone pommel is polished, the white surface shimmering faintly blue as he tilts it under the light. When he unsheaths the blade, the black surface flashes dangerously, the mark of the wise winking.

Katara reaches out to touch it, and he offers it to her in upturned palms. She does not take it up and give it a swing, just traces the details. “It’s perfect,” she says.

“Thank you.”

“So the blade works then?”

“So far it seems to,” he says. 

“If that’s true, I’m going to be the best sister ever.”

“I gave it the same tests I do with the regular ones, and it felt good, didn’t show any wear.” Her smile is just a hint coy when she looks at him, her head tilted.

“Can I request a demonstration?” His mouth goes dry, his ears ring, and as if from underwater, he hears himself say,

“We’d have to go to my place.” He wants to bite his own tongue off for letting it come out that suggestive. Even more so when her voice sounds far more intrigued than offended when she asks, “Oh?” 

“That’s where the sword fighting dummy is,” he says, rather than let himself ask her exactly what kind of demonstration she would like from him. “Up on the roof.”

“Lead the way.”

Walking the familiar streets with her arm in his, the sword fit for a prince at his hip, there is a hint of what Zuko’s life might have been, had his ancestors not been so cruel and power-hungry. In a world where Sozin had not wiped out the Air Nomads, where Azulon had not raided the Southern Water Tribe for every bender it had, Prince Zuko and Princess Katara would have made an ideal match. How cruel the spirits are, to torment him with such happiness that could’ve been his.

He follows her up the rickety staircase around the back of the Jasmine Dragon, the old wooden steps that snake from behind the teashop, past the windows of the apartment, and up to the roof. She swings herself over the low wall easily, but his hands flutter nervously at her waist anyway, his breath held tight in his chest. When he steps over, she reaches for his hands, and he takes hold of her even though he has done this a thousand times. The dummy is a homemade figure of scrap wood and straw-stuffed burlap, crudely shaped like a man, and Lee hauls it upright and drags it into the center of the roof.

“Stand clear,” he tells her, and she steps back several paces out of swinging range. Drawing the sword, Lee settles into a fighting stance. It is embarrassing to fight a fake enemy with her eyes on him, despite the fact that he does it often enough alone. Something about it makes him think that he must look like a child at play. Perhaps it is that she is smiling rather than sternly observing as his master had. 

Or perhaps it is because from the first swing, he knows that he is putting on a show for her. There is no need for so much force or finesse to demonstrate that the weapon is functional. It is so sharp that it rips through the fabric and stuffing of the torso with ease. Still, as he catches sight of her smile slipping away and her focus narrowing to the fluid movements of his body, he can’t help but flourish a little. He spins and flips the blade and slashes in that lop the dummy’s arms into chunks and leaves the burlap tunic in ribbons. With a final devastating arc, the head comes clean off, falling to the rooftop with a dull thud. Lee sheaths the sword again in a continuous motion, and looks to Katara.

“Well?” he asks, seeking her approval.

“Oh that’ll do,” she says, sounding a little out of breath. Lee isn’t winded from the exertion, but as she comes closer, her gaze sears the air from his lungs.

“Good.” She takes another step. “I, uh, hope your brother has a happy birthday?” She laughs, but does not halt herself until she is standing very clearly in Lee’s personal space. The tenderness in her eyes is too much. There is too much that he will have to remember about her. There is too much time she will only be real to him in his dreams.

“I don’t know what’s more remarkable about you: the things you make or the things you do.” She cups his cheek, touches his scar, fingers brushing lightly over the warped skin. Nobody else has done that before, usually assuming it is kinder to pretend it does not exist. “You really are a special person, Lee.” 

She angles her face to kiss him, but he cannot let her. He turns his face. With his lips brushing her ear, and for the first time in many years, he whispers, “My name is Prince Zuko. I am the son of Fire Lord Ozai, and heir to the throne.” She sucks in a quiet gasp.

“The rumors were true,” she murmurs, awed. 

He nods, unable to meet her eyes, and laughs bitterly. “I’m prince to the royal line that almost ruined your people or I’m nothing but a blacksmith. Either way, I am so hopelessly unworthy of you, it’s laughable.”

“Zuko,” she says, reaching for his face again. He catches her hand and tangles their fingers together briefly before he drops it back to her side.

“Lee,” he begs. “If I have to let you go, I would much rather it be because I’m beneath you.”

“Lee,” she concedes. “You are not beneath me. And whatever your name, you are a good man. You have a good heart. Everything else is just decoration.” Her hand rises again, and this time he does not have the strength of will to stop her.

“Katara, please, take the sword and go.” His body continues to betray him, leaning into her touch as the pad of her thumb brushes softly over his skin. “This is hard enough. If I have you for a moment, I don’t think I can make do without forever.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, Lee,” she promises. “I wouldn’t do that to _myself_. You can have me. Forever if you want.”

“But -” Her hand slips lower on his face, fingertips resting lightly on his lips, silencing his protests.

“Trust me.” She lets her fingers slip off his chin, and the instant she is no longer touching him, he cannot stand it. Lee’s hands reach for her, pull her into his arms like he has been dreaming of. When he leans down to kiss her, she meets him, her hands sliding into his hair, tugging and clinging. Her lips are soft and warm - all of her is, and he never wants to stop touching her. He thinks that he is holding on too tight, but his hands refuse to obey him and release her. Instead, they grasp for more, bunching the fabric of her dress at the small of her back, threading into her long hair, his forearm pressed all along her spine. 

They kiss until they are dizzy from lack of air, and then they just stay wrapped up in each other as they struggle for breath. Katara is combing her fingers through his hair. Lee’s eyes are stinging behind his closed eyelids, and he has to blink a few times until the blurry image of her focuses when he tries to look at her again. He takes in her flushed face and sparkling eyes, and says the only thing he can manage to think.

“Please.” She pulls him in again, their lips brushing. 

“Yes.”

They stay on the rooftop kissing for so long that the sun goes down. Lee hears Uncle return from the tea shop, and knows that there will be no getting Katara out of the house without an invitation for dinner, and no escaping the mortification that will surely follow. He does not mind as much as he would’ve guessed, but they do not rush downstairs anyway, instead lingering to watch the first stars appear in the sky. 

“Are you done trying to talk me out of this?” Katara asks, her back leaned against Lee’s chest as she sits with his arms around her.

“For now,” he agrees.

“Good.” He thinks that is all she will say, but she goes on. “Nobody in my tribe is going to look down on you. We don’t have nobility at the South Pole like they do here; my father was elected. The chiefdom is his until he dies or retires unless the elders vote to remove him, but Sokka and I have to earn our place just like everybody else. So if you do the same, there’s no reason my family wouldn’t approve.”

“Except-”

“At least no reason that _I_ care about, and that’s all that matters.” She turns around to look him in the eyes. The resolve in her expression is absolute, and his capacity to resist temptation has been eroded by her kisses. “Will you work to earn it?” He returns her gaze with equal intensity and vows,

“Forever.”


End file.
